


A refuge from the rain

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, First Time, M/M, Oral Sex, RAINSTORMS, Wet!Lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2432336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are caught in the rain and seek shelter in an abandoned farmhouse. An open fire, a mattress, and blankets. It doesn't take a genius.......</p>
            </blockquote>





	A refuge from the rain

"All I can say, is that I hope your brother has _Build an ark_ on his list of secret projects." John looked out at the almost impenetrable wall of rain sluicing off the roof.

"I'm reasonably sure construction is outside his portfolio....Oh, I see. You were trying to be funny." Sherlock often thought John's deadpan delivery needed some work, or perhaps it was his subject material. Nevertheless he managed a wan smile.

"You're a tough audience some days, Sherlock. Next time, you can provide the entertainment."

"I thought I already had. Forged passports, possible importation fraud, even crime-ring links if we're very, very lucky. Surely that's enough entertainment for this week?"

"All capped off with being stuck in a freezing barn on a disused farm in the middle of Sheffield; you sure know how to make an impression. Most guys just take me to dinner and a movie."

Sherlock turned up the collar on his Belstaff coat, "I'm hardly _most guys_ , John."

"Truer words," muttered John.

They stood in silence for a minute or two, watching the rain create a curtain of water as it poured through the rusted gutters. If the distance, the foggy outline of the farmhouse could be barely seen through the deluge.

"Think we could make it without drowning? There's probably a fireplace in there." John wondered aloud.

"Mmmm, 300 meters, 90 seconds perhaps two minutes, in this rain.....we'll get wet, but worth it I think. Hypothermia is a real risk if we stay here."

John nodded, zipping up his jacket and turning up his own collar. "Ready?"

In fact, by the time they'd traversed the muddy yard, skirted the fence and found a window they could jimmy open, it was more like five minutes and they were soaked to the skin. They stood, shivering and sodden, dripping on the rug in front of the unlit fireplace.

"Well, that was unpleasant." Sherlock peeled off the soggy coat, dropping it in a wet pile on the floorboards. John followed suit with his jacket.

"At least whoever was here last laid the fire." John knelt and inspected the grate, "Did a good job too." He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers at Sherlock.

"What?"

"Lighter." John said simply.

"What makes you think?..."

"Sherlock, I know when you've been smoking and where there's cigarettes there's...."

Sherlock handed over the contraband lighter without another comment.

 

@@@

 

Fifteen minutes later, John had a cheery fire lit and Sherlock had managed to drag an old mattress and some discarded blankets over to the fire.

"The rest of the house has been virtually emptied, and I'm reasonably sure I've displaced a family of rats from their rightful abode in this mattress."

"Well, needs must...and all those sayings."

They sat side by side for several minutes, soaking up the warmth from the fire and trying to ignore the cold of the room still at their backs.

John cleared his throat, "Look...this is going to sound weird but..I mean...as a Doctor.."

Sherlock interrupted, "You're going to explain that the best way for us to conserve heat is to get out of these wet clothes and under the rugs....I was wondering how long it would take you to muster up the courage to say it." There was a note of humour to Sherlock's words, "Actually, it took significantly less time than I expected. If I wasn't so cold, I'd ponder the significance."

"I wasn't......I'm not.....oh, forget it." John pushed up from the mattress and in a display of no-nonsense efficiency borne of military training, he shucked off his damp shirt, jeans and underwear and burrowed back under the blankets to huddle closer to the heat of the fire.

Sherlock smirked but in the end was no less swift with his own disrobing and diving back under, the cold making any delay more than slightly unpleasant, "Shove over John, my feet are sticking out the end."

"That's because they're enormous. Hang on, let me....Sherlock, get off!"

In an effort to procure more mattress real-estate, Sherlock had crawled along to lie parallel to John, and his chest was now pressed uncomfortably close to John's back. John was sure he could feel the fine hairs on Sherlock's thighs brushing his own.

"Relax John, I'm just trying to..." Sherlock fidgeted behind him, tugging ends of rugs and tucking them in to block drafts, shifting and curling seemingly oblivious as each move shifted skin against skin and John winced at each invasive move, trying to flinch away and finally tumbling off the mattress onto the cold floorboards in front of the fire before springing to his feet.

"Fuck Sherlock..." John balled his fists at his side and began a furious rant, "..did your parents never teach you about personal space? This is awkward enough without you doing the bloody rhumba against my arse cheeks. Is it too much to ask that we just lay down and pretend we're not naked in a room together in front of an open fire?"

Sherlock, cocooned in the nest of blankets looked up at his flatmate standing tall and surrounded by the glow of the fire at his back. He considered for a moment how best to articulate the contradiction inherent in John suggesting they ignore the fact that they were naked while, in fact, standing naked in the the warm and shadowed light of the flames. He settled for a long, very meaningful sweep down the length of John's body before returning to his eyes and added a silent quirk of an eyebrow for good measure.

John looked down, finally internalising his current state of undress and blushed, "Shut up!"

"I didn't..."

"Just..." John lowered his voice several decibels, "Oh..just...shut it." before sheepishly crawling back under the covers.

"Sorry." Sherlock whispered quietly. Apologies were a new tool to Sherlock. He'd learned that for John, a well place apology was almost guaranteed to circumvent any number of tedious conversations and in the end, cost Sherlock virtually nothing.

John turned under the blankets to face him, "No. Don't do that, don't be sorry just to placate me. Not if you don't mean it."

Sherlock's mouth dropped open. He hadn't considered John may be aware that more than half his carefully manufactured platitudes were simply to smooth John's ruffled feathers.

"What?" John grinned at him, "I can be clever sometimes too, you know. Particularly when it comes to you."

Sherlock smiled back fondly, "My conductor of light..." he chuckled, "casting a little light of your own these days?"

"It shouldn't be so surprising, that some of your brilliance is finally rubbing off." John's voice was low and rich in praise. He raised a gentle finger to rub across Sherlock's cheek removing a trace of dirt picked up sometime during the day.

"You've always been brilliant John, never doubt it." Sherlock quietly replied, voice heavy with honesty.

John seemed to suddenly realise the intimacy of their situation and jerked his hand back, eyes widening slightly in the dim light.

Sherlock just chuckled, "Get some sleep John, it's too cold for you to make another escape to the floorboards."

Dragging in a heavy breath, John nodded and rolled so his back was facing Sherlock again and tried to get some sleep.

 

@@@

 

In the end, sleep eluded John. He lay, listening to Sherlock's steady breathing, rolling gently with the rise and fall of ribs as they pressed against his back and hour after countless hour feeling the steady thud of Sherlock's pulse at his wrist where John's fingers had come to rest when Sherlock's arm had been suddenly draped over him during the night.

For too many nights after Sherlock's return John had lay awake pondering the miracle that had brought the detective back to him alive and well. He'd grieved, he'd said goodbye, but it seemed that only now, with them pressed together in their warm sanctuary that something inside John could thaw enough to truly believe that he was back to stay.

 _Thud, thud, thud_....The pulse continued, strong and sure.

 _Thud, thud, thud_....That heart, that was big enough to to sacrifice itself for the three people he loved.

 _Thud, thud, thud_...That heart, that had been strong enough to let him go, for Mary...and had been strong enough to take him back when it had all gone so terribly wrong.

Exhausted, bu warm and safe, John lay there, still counting the beats when the grey light of dawn peered through the window. On the odd occasion during the night that the steady rhythm of Sherlock's pulse had almost lulled him to sleep, the detective had twitched and fidgeted within his dream and John had startled awake, only to repeat the cycle again.

He was just settling in for another round of introspection when Sherlock's nose snuffled into the short hairs at the base of his neck and a murmured "John" rattled clearly in a sleep raspy voice, gathering John more firmly in his arms before he once again settled and the easy breathing resumed.

John whispered, "Sherlock....." and paused, waiting for a sign whether his friend was waking.

His name wasn't repeated and John settled back into the warmth and comfort, content to spend some quality time alone with his thoughts and wrapped securely in long arms.

@@@

"Mmmthhppmmnn" the arms tightened around him and John smiled. Sherlock's breathing was still slow and easy and sleep was rare enough that John had no intention of waking him.

A little harder to ignore was the noticeable firmness against his arse. Clearly Sherlock was no stranger to the perfectly normal morning functioning of his 'transport'. For almost an entire minute, John wrestled with years of societal conditioning that he should move away, escape from this awkward situation and like good British men, never mention it again.

Once that minute was over, John's hind-brain took control of the situation and calmly explained that he was warm, dry and that the feeling of another man's cock pressed against his arse was rather a pleasant sensation and responded accordingly.

_Surely there wouldn't be any harm in it._

John tried an experimental rock gently backward; _Yes, that's very pleasant._

_This is probably crossing a line._

Another rock, and this time an almost imperceptible answering in Sherlock's hips, _Probably a lot of lines._

_Perhaps if I just took myself in hand._

John tried to inch forward, trying to create a gap between them but had to stifle a laugh when Sherlock, still clearly asleep shuffled forward to regain the touch and friction he unconsciously sought

_Well he knows what he wants._

The blurry edges of exhaustion were dissipating and John, words like 'conscious' and 'consent' started to make a rational appearance, howevr John was no less committed to the idea of ...something. Knowing there was every chance that once Sherlock was awake, there was every chance that this delightful opportunity to..well...get off may evaporate, John decided to at least stack the deck in his own favour.

Gently but purposely, John settled back slotting his arse against Sherlock's erection, delighting in the reflexive thrust that resulted and adding a wriggle of his own, hoping that on some level, Sherlock might wake with the potential of this situation already embedded in his waking brain.

"Sherlock...." John whispered gently. Waited a count of ten and then raised the volume slightly, "Sherlock.."

"Mmmmm...John" Sherlock's arms began to tighten around him and then froze, seemingly caught between instinct and reason, "Oh.." he paused again, "..sorry."

John's heart thundered in his chest, "Are you? Stop, before you tell me what you think I want to hear and tell me honestly....are you really sorry?"

There was a long painful silence during which John thought his galloping heart may burst through his ribs before Sherlock's quiet voice cut through the silence, "No....I'm not." and he ground very purposefully against John's arse.

John groaned and tilted his head back to rest against Sherlock's chest, "Good....because, for the record, neither am I."

"I thought..."

"Don't think, Sherlock. I know that's impossible for you, but try...try for me. Just for the next half hour, don't think." John reached a hand back to awkwardly settle on Sherlock's hip and he pivoted his hips back again drawing a gasp from the man behind him, "Can we do that? Not think about what this means, or doesn't mean, can we just.... _Christ_...can we just get each other off, and talk about it later?"

Sherlock's shaky nod was felt more than seen as his fingers spread on John's chest, holding them together while they rocked together for several hedonistic minutes and John pulled steadily at himself, wanting more, needing more.

"Fuck Sherlock..This is good, great but....I want to...."

"What John," his deep voice whispered over his shoulder, "What do you want?"

"God, I don't know." John blushed again, "Can I taste you...Is that too much?"

"Yes...oh God yes, please John."

There was several frantic minutes of wrestling with the blankets wrapped securely around them before John could work his way down Sherlock's body, licking and nipping skin as he went, luxuriating in the increasingly musky scent that surrounded him as Sherlock tried ineffectually to retain some of their precious warmth before finally giving up and fisting at the bunched blankets as John buried his nose in curly pubic hairs before wrapping his lips around him and taking him into the warmth of his mouth.

With more sleep, John may perhaps have had enough rational thought to question exactly what they were doing and how they came to end up like this, equally likely was that rational thought may argue that this was inevitable from the day they met and it was simply a matter of time and opportunity.

Without that valuable sleep, John's thoughts consisted more along the lines of the magnificent noises his friend was making and how surprisingly arousing it was each time his friend's cock hit the back of his throat. He'd been briefly worried that he'd never actually sucked another man's cock, but the experience he'd had on the receiving end translated nicely...oh so very nicely...into practical skills he was enthusiastically employing, testing out a wide variety of techniques gathered over years well spent.

John pulled off briefly, smiling at the needly whine from the usually arrogant vocal cords at the end of the mattress, before he shifted his hips to straddle one of Sherlock's legs, pressing his sadly neglected erection against a muscular calf.. _Oh yes...better..._

He looked up, grinning at Sherlock as the genius took the hint and flexed his leg, providing John something to rut against. In reward, John licked a long strip from root to tip before flattening his tongue against his frenulum and closing his mouth over the head, humming against the sensitive skin.

Sherlock keened and bucked, pushing himself though John's steadying grip at the base of his cock. John moved his spare hand down behind Sherlock's balls and gave an experimental press on his perineum. Sherlock hissed and John felt the telltale salty-bitterness of pre-come on his tongue as Sherlock's hand moved to settle on the back of his head. _Sensitive prostate, good to know._

Sherlock shifted his leg again, encouraging John to thrust in earnest. A distant part of his brain whispered _chafing_ but was shouted down by the louder calls to rut and thrust and to hell with any thoughts of residual soreness that could be dealt with later... _much later._

John's jaw was beginning to ache, but he was so caught up in the feedback loop of giving and receiving pleasure that the niggling pain was quickly dismissed in favour of an almost neanderthal need to see his partner climax, to be the one that wrung that pleasure from him. John could hear his blood pounding in his ears and there was a heady adrenaline pumping through his veins.

 _Come on Sherlock, come for me.....let me taste it._ John swirled his tongue over the sensitive head once more before taking his cock deep and swallowing around the head now deep down his throat _Didn't know I could do that._

"John.....JOHN!" Sherlock went rigid all at once, from the hand in John's hair, to his cock, to the muscles in his abdomen, clenching so tight it raised his torso off the bed as he began to come.

At the feel of Sherlock's locked muscles spasming over and over again, John rutted one final time and spilled against Sherlock's tense calf muscle, pulling off Sherlock's cock lest he bite down in reflex.

They locked eyes briefly, in that shared moment of pleasure before Sherlock grasped at John's arms and pulled him down to lay against him as they caught their breath, gentle twitching shudders making goosebumps rise on Sherlock's skin. John pulled the blankets up around them and then lay heavily of the taller man, lacking even the energy to haul himself back up his body.

He was just drifting off to sleep when he felt a gentle hand on the back of his head. He turned his face to look up the length of Sherlock's body.

"You ok?" He felt the voice rumble through the chest under his cheek.

"Yeah...good...you?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment, "I think so. You know...I think somewhere during that, I may actually have done as you asked....I believe I stopped thinking. It was..."

"Terrifying?"

Sherlock smiled and smoothed a hand over John's hair, "Amazing."


End file.
